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Fog it

Couldn't see a thing all morning.

Not even from the 3,204 meter summit of Sesvenna, the highest peak in the region. But in the fog my mind was perhaps freer to think, and I realized that even though the map says it's Italy that I keep crossing into, it's really only Italy in name and taxes, which, fortunately, I don't have to pay.

Whenever I've run into people on the trail, or seen directional or informational signs, or names on buildings and plaques, it's always been German that's spoken or written. Seeing the three-country border yesterday told me intellectually that this region became Italy less than a century ago. But I still expected to see Italians, hear and read that language. But really I'm in Sud Tirol, many of whose citizens feel no connection whatever with the country they vote in.

Yesterday in the fog I walked past a World War I bunker hidden in the landscape in a place to shell and not be shelled, presumably having to do with the important road in the valley below. I suppose that's part of why this place is now Italy without Italians, or at least people we'd think of as Italian and who think of themselves that way.

In the fog up here it all seems very unclear and strange.